Character Drabbles~
Feeling the urges to write while doing homework. So I'm appealling to them. Completely random shit. Sleepers When she awoke in the middle of the night, the first thing Trigara noticed was the chill in the air. It was approaching every Pseudo's favourite months. Summer's heated grip was being forced away by cooler air and looming clouds, and the leaves bloomed with vibrant, blazing, sunset hues. Like the summer's sun was setting, and the autumn was the segueway for the winter's moon. Crawling out of bed, she makes her way towards her window, the linoleum cold against her feet. The glass radiated a cool, chilly air--and almost smelled cold. Refreshingly so. Peering out, she pondered the moon, then let her thoughts wander as she examined the clouds. She usually only woke up when something was wrong, or something was amiss. The former almost always brought about senses of dread, or fear--anticipation for an unknown catastrophe. But right now, she only felt ... Mellow. With that slight, fretting prickle in her chest. Stepping away from the window, Trigara makes her way out of her room, and approaches Radii's. She turns the knob and pushes it open as quietly as she could. The Pseudan child was sleeping soundly, a section of the blanket nestled against the side of their face as they hugged it like a stuffed animal. Trigara smiled fondly at the sight, before quietly slipping away, closing the door securely behind her. Lockjaw was next. Trigara knew him long enough to know that he either refused to sleep, only took brief naps, or only slept when no one else was home. Or, at least, when he thought no one else was home. In this particular case, she opened his door to find an empty room. The mute Pseudo was gone, the sheets undisturbed and tucked into the bedframe. Trigara simply extrapolated that the Pseudo was either sleeping elsewhere, or not sleeping at all. Since she was on it, she decided to check in on the others. Essence and Mryminous were sleeping peacefully in their shared room. Since their wings made it difficult to lay down anywhere--especially in Essence's case--they both slept face-down, the sides of their heads partially buried into their pillows. The blankets had practically been abandoned by both parties, resigned to (mostly) covering their legs. The stomachaches that struck the following mornings weren't pleasant for them. Esyure had apparently tried to stay up late, but failed. His light was still on, and the Pseudo was laying on the top of their sheets. Trigara obliged in turning off the light and closing his door, knowing that if she tried anything else, the Pseudo would be less than pleased. Kassiden was missing. Just like Lockjaw's room, his bed was completely undisturbed. Kyrus had a bad tendency to twitch in his sleep--possibly due to the electrical energy in his body being stimulated by his dreams. He emoted quite frequently, his features crinkling into various emotions that mostly bordered on things akin to disgust. Trigara couldn't help but worry, despite the Pseudo's extremely volatile nature. Kyrusiden was not seen to be sleeping very often, but Trigara caught him sitting up in his bed, head tilted on top of his headboard like he had accidentally drifted off. From what she could see, Kyrusiden's face was serene--relaxed enough so that the shadows and lines under his eyes were visible. Discovering the Pseudo in this almost fragile state made Trigara think of the term 'gentle giant'. The only ones missing were Kassiden and Lockjaw. Finally deciding to head downstairs, Trigara gently eased herself down each step in an attempt to stay quiet. She noted how some of the wall lights were still on, casting their orange glows onto the plaster walls as she made her way through the first floor. When she approached the kitchen, she was startled by the sight of figures sitting at the table, illuminated only by a lamp. Kassiden was quietly sampling from a plate of s'mores, seeming to consume each in one bite, with little to no chewing. Trigara smiled; he had adamantly refused to indulge in the sweets at the time they were being made. Lockjaw was asleep across from him, his head resting on his crossed arms. "What are you doing up?" Trigara ventured hesitantly. Upon hearing her voice, Kassiden visibly jolted. He sniffed before seeming to wipe his mouth with the sleeve of his gray hoodie, and twisting to look at her, his red eyes seeming to search her features. Trigara schooled her face to remain calm. "Oh, I know--" Trigara quickly piped up, realizing the error of her approach. "That's hypocritical of me to ask. But I just woke up with a feeling--which may have been you two not being in bed." Kassiden's eyes remained on her, searching, before he pushed himself out of his chair, standing up. Casually taking up the last s'more, he begins to walk away--but not before slamming his tail onto the table, throwing the sleeping Pseudo into wakefulness. He casts a glance at Trigara as he stuffs the treat into his mouth. She smiles at him. Short It was almost comical how short Kyrus was. At least, in comparison to who he associated with. Kassiden was six feet and 11 inches of pure, unadulterated muscle and bone. Even if he was inferior to some of those around him physically, he knew how to handle his cards. He was foreboding when it was called for, but he could be as inconspicuous as a shadow when he felt like it. Kyrusiden was only an inch taller than Kassiden, but just as intimidating. His more lax, unpredictable behavior, even though it was nothing like Kassiden's, only seemed to add to his intimidation factor--even if he never really meant any harm. Kyrus only made it to the tops of their shoulders, the only things blurring this appearance being his messy hair and perky ears. But even with this supposed shortcoming--even with this hilarious disconnect to his towering 'teammates'. Almost everyone was terrified of him. Dream Ryan Blodkat Ryan's consciousness bobbed into reality to the feeling of being watched. He lays there for several moments. His back was stiff and achy from the unrelentingly hard surface beneath him, and his body was heavy from possibly hours of unconsciousness. He lets his cotton-filled mind try and organize itself into some semblance of coherency, before he shakily pushes himself upright and takes in his surroundings. The first thing he notices are the clean, white slabs lining the landscape with deliberate, curving paths--which contrast significantly against the relatively dark-looking landscape. He promptly runs a hand across the one he's currently sitting on. It's not dry and powdery like the concrete he was expecting it to be. It was smooth, and almost matte-like. As for the area itself, it was, to say the very least, verdant. Black trees tinted with dark blues and purples sprung forth from the dark, cool green grass, which was lush with flowers that resembled patches of a star-filled sky. The nightly colours of the ground complemented the intense sunset hues of the leaves, which were autumn coloured with reds, oranges, golds, yellows. The actual sky itself was alight with the hues of twilight--with purples, navy blues, pinks, and oranges. The entire area was, quite literally, a contrast of night and day. He stands himself up slowly--trying not to scuff the reverently clean surface with his (woefully dirty) sneakers--before taking to exploring the area, appreciating the mix of cool and warm breezes sweeping the premises, admiring the landscape ... trying to ignore the feeling of eyes burning into his soul ... At one point, he hears the soft, bubbling sounds of running water--and catches sight of a large, white platform sitting in a moat of dark blue water, which was speckled with shards of the sun's rays. Fiery flowers surrounded and dipped into the water, throwing bits of light onto it and setting it aflame with vibrant glows. On the platform itself, Ryan sees a person. They were peacefully tending to an array of flowers, which curled around a dark, reddish-brown tree--the only one that Ryan has seen in the garden so far. Their pale, freckled hands worked meticulously as they trimmed the flora, rending away the dying and showcasing the living in a display of vibrance and health. In comparison to the blue, purple, and fiery colours of the landscape around them, the stranger was dressed in a comfortable wardrobe of mint and seafoam greens, with a thin veil shrugged around their shoulders. Bright red beads were strung delicately across the mesh, glinting like frosty cherries. The picture of minimal, tasteful style on a figure of pure zen. He was so entranced by the presence of this person that he visibly jumped when they called out his name. "Ryan? " They say, in an ambiguously pitched voice that made it difficult to discern a gender. Ryan straightens himself up awkwardly. "Y-Yes?" He responds, as loudly as he dared. The stranger stops, stepping back and admiring their work, before moving across the platform. Setting down their tool, they make their way towards the teenager, crossing the bridge across the moat as they did so. Ryan stood stiffly at attention, humbled beyond belief and not wanting to step out of line. He was able to get a better look at the person. They were tall--Ryan estimated at least six feet--and seemingly built delicately. Their hair was a creamy blonde like his own--but it was so pale that it could easily be mistaken for white at a distance. It fell around their pale, freckled face in delicate waves, framing their almost youthful features and making them look younger than they probably were. They both shared the same reddish-brown eye colour. Only, this stranger's was probably even more red. Almost demonic. "You came ... " They say softly, their voice hushed. They seemed almost mesmerized. Ethan Viruca Cold. It was bitterly cold. The absolute chill was the first thing that Ethan noticed as he rose into consciousness. It was so, so cold--he could feel it wrapping around his entire body, wracking it with goosebumps and making him shiver. Once he lays there for several moments, curled up in a ball and reflexively hugging himself, he makes his slow way onto his feet. He rubs the goosebumps out of his arms the best he could, looking around as he did so. Connor Eera Connor's eyes hammered open, the teenager greeted with partial darkness as his body was shot through with panic, fear gripping his heart. He scrambled onto his feet as fast as he could, trying not to lose his balance as he propped himself onto his one arm and lifted himself up with his legs, surveying his surroundings. The room he was in was dark--the only source of light being a fish tank that appeared to be completely desaturated. Like some kind of noir film--the colour drained from the world. "Can you calm down?" A snarky, vaguely teenage voice snaps at him from the shadows. A tall, thin figure steps out from the darkness, the fish tank illuminating their features as they stepped towards the teenager, who couldn't help but stand stock still with fear. The person appeared to be one of the only patches of colour in the room. Their hair was dark, but their skin was fair and light. Their wardrobe was mainly comprised of red--with a thick cloth with ragged edges adorning their right shoulder, over a delicate vest of fabric that partially hid a plain shirt. Their pants were baggy around the ankles--and their shoes were simple--almost sock-like. Nothing like Connor's worn sneakers. Their blatantly red eyes bore into the teenager's soul with skepticism. Which did nothing to help them 'calm down'. Pyromancy "Fuck off with that shit, why don't you?!" An icy voice, heavy with a British accent, cuts through the still silence like a knife through taut tendons. An angry Pseudo repeatedly paces back and forth in frustration, his feet turning so abruptly that dirt is displaced under thick leather soles. Fur bounces up and down with gentle waves that contrast with their wearer's jerky movements. Their cold cyan eyes are sharp fragments of ice that glare fiercely at indifferent, fiery hued ones. "I don't see why you're fretting so much." The fiery Pseudo replies. "It's both of our faults, you know. Don't make this about yourself, Kyrice." The ice Pseudo spins around and stops at that, staring hard at the fire-brandishing Pseudo with disbelief and anger. "How could you be so indifferent to this?!" He demands. "If we didn't quarrel so much, this wouldn't have happened." The fire Pseudo responds graciously. "The only thing that isn't either of our faults is the conduit finding us. Play with that idea the next time you try and impale me with an icicle, why don't you?" He sneers, tone unchanging from its neutral indifference. If Kyrice's fists weren't already shaking from his default body temperature, they'd be shaking with rage. "Kieryden, you insufferable--!" Heavy //Pure, self-indulgent fluff. I'm not feeling the best and I was inspired by character emotion prompt. Sometimes Kassiden had days where he wasn't himself. He was usually quiet and respectful depending on who he was talking to--and a strict, merciless teacher when he needed to be. But never one to express himself. He was the definition of disciplined and tempered when he was in a neutral state. Which is what made today so bizarre. Kyrusiden was quietly admiring the violets growing outside, the colour that almost perfectly matched his own eye colour poking out from the rich green grass. He liked to sit and stare at them, fascinated with the craftsmanship of them. How, unlike Pseudos, the colours burst forth from the flora so effortlessly. His violet eyes were rare--especially stemming from his circumstances--so to see almost the exact same colours from such small, fragile little things made him marvel. His ears prick up when he hears the sound of grass munching underneath footsteps. He looks up. Kassiden was quietly walking over to him, form more slack than usual--his arms swinging more loosely as opposed to the more deliberate manner at which he kept them. His face was a mask of pure exhaustion--the only sign of his classic self being his dark, furrowed eyebrows. The scars don't help him look any less tired. Kyrusiden slowly stands up. There wasn't much of a height difference between them--only an inch--but Kassiden's looser form almost made him look smaller, in spite of his musculature compared to the other Pseudo. Without a word, the red-eyed Pseudo stops in front of the violet-eyed one. He stares at them, as if asking for permission--or awaiting a social cue. Kyrusiden, going with his first instinct, opens up his arms. Kassiden steps into them and almost leans against the other Pseudo, his weight tilting into them considerably--as if he didn't want to hold himself up. Kyrusiden took up that responsibility--wrapping his arms around the Pseudo before lowering the both of them onto the ground. Kassiden's dead weight was extremely apparent; he truly did not seem to want to move. He was a ragdoll. "Rough day, Kassiden?" Kyrusiden asks. The Pseudo doesn't respond. He looks like he's struggling to fall into some sort of sleep--away from the waking world. Kyrusiden could feel the dead weight of his body translating into the air around him. Yes, it was a rough day. Kyrusiden's thoughts answer. They stay that way for quite some time. Kassiden stares off into space, while Kyrusiden offers his usually unwelcomed presence, patting the Pseudo's back every now and then. The violet Pseudo, although occupied with a guest, continues to admire the flowers, quelling any desire to fill the air with awkward small talk. Eventually, though, Kassiden twitches. His arms lift up with a visible amount of effort, before stopping midair--as if he wasn't sure what he wanted to do--and then dropping heavily back down, resigning. ~ Kyrusiden didn't think that he would ever see Kassiden again. Given what was going on, he had suspected that the Pseudo was gone. In every sense of the word. But here he was, limping and hobbling through the grass, covered in various shades of red blood. Staring at him with complete and utter resignation. The purple Pseudo couldn't even begin to start on how injured the Pseudo was. He was positive that at least several of his teeth had been knocked out--if the swell of bruises on his cheeks and the blood smearing his teeth were any indication--and his leg was visibly broken. His arms were twitching from overuse, and some of his sharp claws were chipped. His nose had apparently bled profusely, and a black eye was half-concealed under sticky, blood-encrusted bangs. The red-eyed Pseudo didn't stop going towards him until they were standing face to face. The height difference between them never grew too far from when they had first met. Kyrusiden opens up his arms again. Soup //Pseudos can probably 1,000% make soup and pottery to hold that soup. Some soups are apparently really easy to make, so--who doesn't love soup when they're sick in the winter? Sickfic~ Takes place in their house-- Winter was less than kind to those that were used to warmer, more temperate weather. And those whose origins weren't quite known. Kassiden, Kyrusiden, Mryminous, Esyure, Trigara, Radii, and Lockjaw were all wracked with cases of the winter blues, colds, fevers ... Deep breaths were hoarse and stuttered from sore throats, and the air had the distinct smell of sleep and sickness. It was a miracle that Kyrus and Essence managed to evade the winter's assault. It was also excellent timing that Origanna had visited them. Each sick Pseudo was isolated in their own room--and each was cared for by the remaining healthy individuals (even Kyrus, after much insistence from the other two, and much to the dismay of some of patients. But he actively went out of his way to be as absent as possible--possibly for fear of contracting an illness himself). All three had unanimously agreed to take a certain group. Origanna took care of Trigara, Radii, and Lockjaw, Essence took care of Mryminous and Esyure ... And Kyrus had silently taken up charge of Kassiden and Kyrusiden. ~ Origanna quietly stirred a pot of warm chicken soup, gently swirling the ladle with a delicate hand. Occasionally, he would sample it, before pinching a small amount of salt and pepper into the mixture. Other times, he would allow the soup to simmer--leaving to tend to his patients. More often than not, Trigara was insistent on helping--but the older Pseudo made them stay in bed. Lockjaw obviously bore no differences in his verbalities, but he was asleep almost all the time. Radii often whimpered and whined, requiring a mindful presence and reassurances for an hour. ~ Essence kept himself posted in the corridor between Esyure and Mryminous's room. Esyure's temper was even worse than before. Although he knew that the (pained) snarls of frustration were not directed towards him, Essence was still uneasy around the Pseudo. They were infuriated--''constantly fidgeting from flaring pain that he refused to explain, his fist clenched tightly in his sheets. Essence simply offered his presence to the Pseudo. They watched each other for quite some time, Esyure struggling to maintain his composure as they did so. He didn't seem to want anything else, in spite of his caretaker's insistences. Mryminous, on the other hand, was eerily quiet. Even his shy dialogue and occasional hesitant banter were gone. Essence was forbidden from touching the sick--which, while understandable, broke his heart. So he tried his best to spoil the Pseudo with everything he ''could give. Compliments, sweet lemon cough drops, warm compresses ... If Mryminous's face wasn't already flushed enough, the attention was making him beet red. ~ Kyrus was unsure as to how to approach the situation. Kassiden was an inherently independent Pseudo--and if their blood-fueled fights were any indication, he hated him. The feeling was mutual. Kyrusiden ... Unsettled him. Although he was usually quiet, the way he stared at everything with a glazed look made the Pseudo uneasy. He doesn't even remember an instance of them going to sleep. He simply left whatever the two may need, and left it at that. Medicine, cough drops, water, cold and warm compresses ... He didn't approach either of them. Not once. Comfy Clothes "Kassiden, you don't have to wear your armour all the time." Trigara admonishes one day, when they spot the Pseudo drinking a cup of hot chocolate. They were still wearing their cloak, the red leather collars as spiky and jarring as ever. The loose sleeves only slightly obscured the gauntlets adorning his arms. The red-eyed Pseudo doesn't respond, instead looking at the other with a neutral look. "You should really wear something more comfortable." Trigara offers. "This is what I'm comfortable with." Kassiden responds curtly. Their brow seems to instinctively furrow, making him look irritated. "Don't give me that, Kassiden. You have duplicates of that outfit that you've worn for days on end." Trigara says. "You're going to wear your armour out if you keep doing this. Then when you'll actually need it, it'll be too supple to give any real protection." The reasoning seems to work. Kassiden's brow furrows further, this time with consideration. "I don't have anything else." He finally admits. Mistletoe //Merry Christmas. ♡ Delightfully OOC. "Hey!" Essence squawked, when Radii playfully shoved a Christmas stocking onto his head, ruffling his white, almost feathery locks. The yellow Pseudo giggles as Essence mercifully pulls the stocking off, chuckling as he teases his hair back into some semblance of order. Mryminous and Trigara watched, smiling from their places on the couch, and the former cradling a cup of hot chocolate in his lap. Radii was delighted to learn about the concept of human holidays. Although they weren't quite able to achieve the gift-giving bit of Christmas, the yellow Pseudo was still more than happy to participate in the holiday cheer--and he managed to drag almost every other adult in the house into it. In this case, Trigara, Mryminous, and Essence were all persuaded to partake in the 'ugly sweater' fest. Trigara was wearing a blaring red sweater with complementing green text that said 'Holly Jolly' in bold, blocky letters, with actual bells, tinsel, and tiny ornaments sewn into a Christmas tree graphic. Mryminous was wearing a brown, wooly sweater with black text that said 'Charcoal Socks'--with patches of what looked to be actual charcoal smeared across the woven material--and red bulbs that resembled holly berries jingling off of the fabric. A miniature stocking that was caked with fake charcoal dust hung from his right side. Essence had gone all out with his sweater--a green woven thing weighed down with so much glitter, tinsel, ornaments, and bells that it was impossible for him not to make any sound. His lap and the back of his legs were practically caked with glitter at this point--and he seemed to trail it wherever he went. "Hang that up, why don't you?" Essence suggested. "Over the fireplace--that's where it's usually meant to go, right?" "Yes, but--" Radii took a hold of Essence's hand, which was propping up his head, and hung the stocking onto his pinky finger. "You're just as warm!" He giggles, as he wraps his arms around the Pseudo's neck, hugging him tightly. Essence gave a hearty chuckle. Mryminous and Trigara could see the subtle blush in his cheeks, and they exchanged their own snickers. "Oi." A harsh voice cuts across the air. Everyone looks up to see Esyure, standing at the threshold of the kitchen and jerking a thumb back into it. The irate, constantly irritated Pseudo was less than pleasant about the holiday festivities, but he did partake in the ugly sweater fest. By taping a mirror to the front of one of his regular sweaters and leaving it at that. "Whoever left their hot chocolate on the tray on the counter," he began. "It's getting fuckin' cold. And the cream is sinking to shit." Trigara instantly got up, and hurried past the one-winged Pseudo carefully. Esyure turned around and left, gripping his own mug of (unadorned) hot chocolate as he headed up the stairs towards his room. ~ Lazy Day //Purely self-indulgent. It was one of those days. One of those days where everything was completely loose. Where everyone--even the most stoic and stiff--were loose and lax. Lazy. Where accidental shoulder clips weren't even addressed with the usual sharp glares, and everyone started caring less about where they sprawled about in the open areas of the house. Whether that be on the couch or on the floor--even dog piles were lazily accepted and everyone had silently agreed to succumb to the pack instincts that had long since been buried with time. Kassiden was laying haphazardly on the couch, his head laying on Trigara's lap as her hand gently stroked his temple, making his eyelids occasionally flutter. Kyrus was laying next to him, his legs resting on the other Pseudo while he sat back against one of the arm rests. Kyrusiden was sprawled spread-eagle in the middle of the floor, staring up at the ceiling with half-lidding eyes. Lockjaw had staked a claim on the one-person cushioned chair, his head leaning on the top of the chair's back, and his arms barely sitting on the arm rests. Short Snippets - Encounters //the Lost Past's events were not the first for its protagonists. I don't remember how I got this idea, but I'm pretty sure I got inspired by those stories where children report paranormal phenomena. A small, blonde-haired child with ruddy, red-brown eyes played quietly on a carpeted floor. Slick plastic toys littered the cushiony ground, and ranged in their subject matters--boats, firetrucks, cars, even some snap-in-place pedestrians and tiny animals. At his side, his mother watched her son's ministrations fondly, a warm smile crinkling her eyes and making them twinkle. At a certain point, however, the child looks up and seems to stare past his mother, his innocent eyes scanning almost curiously. "Mummy," The boy babbles tentatively. "Who's that red man?" ~